


Faith

by cakely



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Priest Kink, take me to church AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakely/pseuds/cakely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five in the morning, Rhys had thought, was the holiest hour. <i> Short drabble, part of the 'Take me to church' AU where Rhys is a priest and Jack is a demon set on leading him into temptation and sin. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith

Five in the morning, Rhys had thought, was the holiest hour. 

Something about how it rested, right at the precipice of morning, walking the edge between night and dawn- there was a special weight to it. It held an energy, a feeling he couldn’t put into words. It was like a vast stillness fell over the world every morning, a tranquility that Rhys felt from within him, especially when he found himself praying in the chapel as the hour passed.

The chapel hall was silent as he entered it, slipping through the large wooden doors as quietly as he could. Lately, he found he couldn’t sleep, always waking up in the dead of the night, shivering. Restless and annoyed, he’d started to make his way to the church every morning, long before even the earliest services. If he couldn’t have sleep, he could have peace, and he figured that was a decent enough bargain.

Rhys smiled softly to himself, stretching out his arms as he walked down the aisle toward the altar. A few candles were left burning throughout the night  _(honestly, probably a fire hazard, it really was a good thing he couldn’t sleep_ ) but other than the flickers of fire light that reflected across the walls, the church was dark. It wasn’t eerie. Instead, Rhys felt a profound comfort in the hall, like he was returning home. The place was sacred; it was safe.

Reaching the altar, Rhys pulled the rosary from around his neck and held it in his hand, kneeling and bowing his head. He tried to slow his breathing down, will himself into a meditative state. Even still, after studying with the parish for several years, Rhys still had difficulty _talking to God_ sometimes, though he would never admit it outside of confession. He wanted it- oh, how he wanted to be able to act like some of the preachers he saw on television. To throw himself down in exaltation, in complete fervent worship of a God with a belief unshaken. It was an inch. The need that drove him to the church in the first place. Rhys wanted to be a part of something greater, to  _serve_ something greater, to be useful to the universe. He to see the face of God and stare up in awe and reverence.

And yet, natural prayer alluded him, just as sleep did.  

So, he did what he could do, and started to recite the words he knew by heart.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven...” he murmured, trying to focus on the image in his mind of the God he wanted to pray to.  _You’re being selfish_ , he chastised himself in his thoughts, interrupting his own prayer. G _od isn’t going to just answer you plainly. You need to be patient. Focus less on your own needs. Think of others._

Breathe, in and out. Feel the calm of the church, the serenity of it. Breathe. Pray.

Rhys gripped his rosary a little tighter.

“Hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread...” He drew a breath, “And forgive us our tresspasses. As we forgive those who trespass-”

Rhys stopped speaking. It felt like the air had been drawn from his lungs in one swift motion. As if the room had gotten darker, the church around him seemed to change. No, it  _had_ changed. Clearly as if a physical shadow had passed across outside of the windows, or if the candles had been blown out. The holy feeling of peace was gone, and Rhys was simply cold.

He shook himself out. “ _Against_  us.” He finished the line firmly, with a frown.

“And-” he continued stronger, as if to make a point against the darkness, “Lead us not into temptation-”

Something moved in his peripheral vision. He was sure of it. Rhys had always been one of the more skeptical members of the clergy, when it came to the idea of _demons_  or  _The Devil._  But now, a terror gripped him like ice, and he bowed his head again, closing his eyes.  _Faith, faith, faith._  Like a mantra.  _Don’t be superstitious. God will protect you._

Rhys did not feel protected. He felt like a fish, dangling over a shark’s tank. Like an unseen predator had entered his humble chapel, and was watching him, lingering behind. Was it his own mind playing tricks on him, or was it closing in on him? His heart was thrumming in his chest, a mix of fear and adrenaline.  

His knuckles were white around his rosary, a tremor travelling through his hands as he held the beads. The rosary shook in his grasp.

“And deliver us from evil,” He whispered into the air.

He remembers, distinctly, the feeling of a hand on his neck, heavy and hot, fingers curling around toward his throat. Goosebumps prickled across his skin. And then, a murmur of a laugh, low and rumbling, sounding loud only in comparison to the silence of the chapel-

“ _Is that really what you want, sweetheart?”_

 

* * *

 

 

Rhys woke up to a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently awake.

“Rhys, what are you doing here? It’s morning. Were you here all night?” He blinked awake, shielding his eyes from the light streaming through the stained glass windows. One of the older members of the parish was looking down at him, concern evident on his face. 

The memory of the previous night flooded back, and Rhys placed a hand to his neck, touching it gingerly.

“I’m sorry, Father. I must have fallen asleep at the alter.”  _A nightmare. That was all. Just a dream._ An heaviness settled in his stomach. Was it relief? Or-

The older priest sighed, and nodded. “Don’t let it happen again. It was careless to do so on the eve of such an eventful day. We’re welcoming a new Father in our clergy today, after all. Did you forget? We wouldn’t want him to think you were...” he hesitated.

“Undisciplined?” Another voice, a familiar sounding voice, chipped in jovially from the doorway. Rhys went cold.

“Ah, and there he is now. Rhys, I’d like you to meet Father John.”

**Author's Note:**

> originally on my tumblr, apostated.tumblr.com :)


End file.
